


I See Us in the Stars

by StilesBastille24



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5.12 fix it, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Angst, sort of, timelines are tweaked from the episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian grabs the phone, skimming across the screen to unlock it, and pulling up his missed calls. He doesn’t bother counting the number from Mickey. He doesn’t bother thinking about the fact that he doesn’t have a single missed call from his family. He taps the phone’s screen, watching it dial out, staring at that vibrant picture of him and Mickey, back when Ian still had buzzed hair, like he was ever going to make it in the army.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Us in the Stars

Ian stares up at the night sky. He wasn’t kidding when he told Monica you can’t see the stars like this in Chicago, you can’t. Not even when he and Mickey hung out at the dugout, the only thing you could see were the city lights. But here, in this complete shit hole with a trail trash abusive twenty-year-old, a trailer for cooking meth, and rusted out cars parked haphazardly, Ian’s got a fucking gorgeous view of the stars.

On the grass, by his elbow, his phone vibrates to life again. He rolls his head to the side, the backlight on the screen blinding him for a moment before the picture of him and Mickey flares to life. Ian’s stomach drops, like an adrenaline rush. He stares at the phone until it goes silent. 

Fuck. Ian looks back up at the stars. It smells here. Maybe it’s like a nature smell or something, but honestly, Ian isn’t feeling it. He’s willing to blame that on the meth trailer, but what he knows about meth is actually all confined to binge watching Breaking Bad with Mickey.

Tapping his fingers against his chest, Ian counts up to one hundred then back down again. The phone doesn’t vibrate. He glances over at it. 

Stretching his hand up, he grabs the phone, skimming across the screen to unlock it, and pulling up his missed calls. He doesn’t bother counting the number from Mickey. He doesn’t bother thinking about the fact that he doesn’t have a single missed call from his family. 

From inside the trailer, Ian can make out the sounds of Monica and trailer trash getting it on again. Not surprising, right? Hypersexuality, one of the symptoms of bipolar. Awesome. 

He taps the phone’s screen, watching it dial out, staring at that vibrant picture of him and Mickey, back when Ian still had buzzed hair, like he was ever going to fucking make it in the army. He hears the distant ring but Mickey isn’t picking up. 

And then he is, there’s a faint, “Hello?” and Ian is crushing the phone to his ear, eyes locked back on the stars above him. 

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” he admits, no preamble. 

“You okay?” Mickey asks hesitantly.

“I’m at Monica’s.” Ian feels like that’s a completely sufficient answer to Mickey’s question. 

Apparently Mickey does too because he says, “What’s Monica’s place like? Better than this ghetto?”

Ian puffs out a laugh. “Yeah, not really.” He tilts his head to the side, looking from one trailer to the other. “I think they’re making meth in one of the trailers. Well, no, I know they’re making meth in the other trailer.”

“How many trailers they got? Like a whole fucking lot of them or?”

“Two. One for sleeping and fucking and the other for meth.”

Mickey whistles. “High rollers, ain’t that what we all want, two trailers?”

Ian laughs again. “Uh, no, actually. I always wanted a boat.”

“The fuck are you gonna do on a boat, Gallagher?” Mickey asks incredulously.

“Fucking boat around, that’s what.”

Mickey huffs out a laugh. “Right, okay, Skipper, enjoy yourself on Gilligan’s Island.”

“Fuck you,” Ian says, his lips curling into a smile and it registers distantly that he must be happy if he’s smiling. “I’m the Professor and you’re Mary-Ann.” 

“You fucking wish, bitch,” Mickey says and Ian’s smile grows wider.

They lapse into a few seconds of silence, Ian plucking at the grass and wondering where Mickey is. Is he still at Ian’s house or did he go back to his? Where’s Svetlana and Yevgeny? He doesn’t ask, though, just feels the easing of his facial muscles as his smile fades. 

“What’s it like with Monica?” Mickey asks, the question slightly strained. Ian doesn’t blame him, it must have been a slap in the fucking face to show up and find out Ian had already taken off. 

“Shitty,” Ian says, eyes glancing to the main trailer. “Pretty fucking shitty. The trailer trash boyfriend is some twenty-year old Walter White wannabe, my mom’s selling meth to truck drivers to pay for food, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be sleeping on a pissed stained couch tonight.”

Mickey processes this for a moment before asking, “So it’s not what you thought it was gonna be?”

Ian shrugs, the grass damp even through his two shirts. “I dunno. Didn’t really think about it at all. I asked her if she’d come see me in lock up, she did. They released me and I called her. She came, we left.”

His gut twists uncomfortably because it sounds pretty shitty laid out like that, but that’s what happened. Ian had sat through that fucking meeting hearing his family tell him he was crazy, a burden, not the person he used to be, that he was Monica. So he called Monica. And she didn’t tell him he was crazy, she told him he was beautiful, that she loved him. So yeah, he left with her. Made perfect sense at the time. 

Mickey doesn’t say anything and Ian figures it’s a lot more because he can’t think of anything to say rather than the old adage of if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all. 

It’s cold out, the damp grass not helping, but Ian just can’t bring himself to get up because if he did, he’d have to go into the trailer and if he did that, he’d have to end his phone call with Mickey. And for whatever reason, that isn’t something he wants to do right now. He’d place bets the reason is because he loves Mickey, but he’s not feeling much of anything right now and love seems like an emotion that would take a lot feeling and energy. 

“I hate taking my medication,” Ian says to fill the silence. 

“I know,” Mickey says. Nothing else, no ascertation that Ian has to take the meds, nothing, just that one simple sentence. 

“I don’t know if I’m going to keep taking it.”

“Is Monica taking hers?”

“No.”

“Huh.” Mickey waits a moment before asking, “She happy?”

It’s not what he’s expecting Mickey to say, he’s expecting some bitter diatribe of all the evils Monica has ever done and of how she’s fucked the family over. Except that isn’t Mickey because that isn’t Mickey’s family, that’s his family. Mickey only knows what Ian’s told him about Monica.

“I think so, yeah,” Ian says slowly.

“That what you want?” Mickey asks and Ian can tell he’s forcing himself to sound neutral. “To stay there with her and Walter White?”

“Not really,” Ian admits and it feels like less of a defeat than he thought it would. “I love my mom, but this . . . I don’t know what I’m doing, but I don’t think this is what I want to be doing.”

“Sleeping on the piss couch?” Mickey asks, his tone too strained to come off as a casual comment. 

“Among other things. My mom, she told me some things, things that I think are true,” Ian says. He sits up, curling over his knees. “She said people are always going to want to fix me but that there’s nothing to fix. That they’ll look at me and just be sad because they don’t see someone they love anymore, they see the bipolar diagnosis and that’s it.”

He waits for Mickey to say anything and when he doesn’t, he continues, his chest tight and worried. “She also said I need to find someone who loves me for me, who, even when everything is shit and I’m not myself, they’ll love me anyway.”

“Tall order,” Mickey says, the words forced even and slow. 

“Yeah,” Ian says, nodding his head, chin bumping his knees. “Cuz I don’t really think my family’s up for that. They had enough of this shit with Monica and they don’t have anything left for me. They love me, yeah, but they don’t want this version of me.”

“Hey, that’s not true, man. You gotta know that.”

“Isn’t it, Mick? You were there in the room with me when Fiona said I was going to end up making their lives hell, when Debbie called me crazy, and Lip – fuck, even Lip said I haven’t been me in over a year. But this is me, Mickey. On or off the drugs, this is who I am now, someone with bipolar who’s doing a pretty shit job of coping with it so far.”

“I slept with someone,” Mickey blurts out. And it is completely out of fucking left field. Out of all the things he imagined Mickey saying, that was not even on the fucking map. It makes his stomach drop out, this hollow feeling that sets his heart to racing. It’s an adrenaline rush that his brain should be interpreting as pain or fear. 

Instead, he smiles. “Yeah? Who was it?”

Mickey lets out a shaky breath. “Some chick.”

“Thought you were gay.”

“Yeah, well, I was getting sick of being gay, thought I’d try the straight thing out again.”

Ian’s chest squeezes tight, it makes him feel uncomfortable, he tries to fight off whatever emotion is desperately clawing to the surface because he gets the impression he’d rather be numb than feel whatever it is that Mickey’s words incite. Still, he finds himself asking, “How was it?”

There’s a hollow laugh from Mickey. “Fucking sucked.”

“She sucked you?” And that makes Ian’s skin feel too tight, that image playing out in his mind’s eye. 

“Yeah, but not what I meant, man. I meant the whole thing was a bust.”

“Oh.” And the tightness eases. “So you’re still gay then?”

“Seems like it.”

And if they’re going with confessions, Ian’s got a few of his own he’s willing to share where no one will overhear him. “Sorry,” Ian says, resting his cheek on his knee, “about the porno, I mean. That was kind of – that wasn’t great.”

“No, it wasn’t all that awesome on my end either,” Mickey says, but it’s not harsh or judgmental, just agreement. 

“And before that – before I slept with . . .” But for some reason, he can’t make himself say the words. The memories blare to life in garish colors, but he doesn’t want to tell Mickey, doesn’t want to disappoint him, because that – well, Ian can admit that wasn’t who he wants to be. Whatever the fuck is going on in his head, sleeping with random johns, running off with Yevgeny, pornos, and nearly smashing Debbie’s head in, that’s not who Ian wants to be. 

“How ‘bout you don’t tell me, okay, Ian?” Mickey says and it hurts Ian how pained Mickey sounds. Ian’s fingers ache from how hard he’s holding onto the phone and he realizes suddenly that he’s scared. 

Since he went on his medication he hasn’t been anything, the closest he got was angry, fighting it out with Mickey at the dugout. But now? Now he’s fucking terrified. 

“I’m really sorry,” he whispers, a hot tear slipping down his cheek to land on his jeans. 

“You know I don’t care, right?” Mickey asks, his tone impossibly gentle, because Mickey Milkovich might be many things, but he is hardly ever gentle. “Because I don’t give a shit about any of this. I’m not fucking happy you cheated on me. I’m not happy you took off with my kid. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy with you, Ian.”

And Jesus Christ that sounds a thousand times worse said out loud, because yeah, Ian knows that’s what he did, but it sounds fucking awful coming from Mickey’s mouth. “What does that even mean?” he asks. 

“It means that you doing that shit and me being unhappy doesn’t mean I don’t still fucking love you. You’re it for me, Ian. You gotta fucking know that. I came out for you, I don’t know what other kind of declaration you’re hoping for, man, but that’s the best I got. I’d rather let my dad try and kill me than – than fucking lose you.”

Ian’s insides are upside down and he’s definitely crying now and that sucks. Because the first thing he’s able to feel, really, truly feel, all the way to his fucking bones, has been a rollercoaster of fear and overwhelming sorrow. “I’m kinda scared, Mick,” he admits, pushing the words through his messy tears.

“I’m scared too, Ian,” Mickey confides with ease, like he trusts Ian with all his secrets, even the ones Ian could use against him. “But I’m not fucking scared of you or us. I’m scared that you ran off without me, again. Third time’s the charm right? I’m scared you’re not coming back this time.” Mickey sounds like he’s barely hanging on, like one more word and he’ll be crying too. 

“I wasn’t – “ Ian struggles to get his voice not to waver, “I wasn’t running from you. I couldn’t face them.” He knows he doesn’t have to explain who. 

“Then don’t fucking face them, Ian. I’ll come bum it with you, Monica, and the meth head. We can share the piss couch and send shitty postcards to Mandy, tell her if she doesn’t fucking leave Kenyata we’ll send the meth head after him.”

“My mom, my mom wants a dog,” Ian says, scrubbing his face with his sleeve.

“Great. I’ll buy her a fucking dog on the way down. We can name it Frank and yell at it to shut the fuck up whenever it barks.”

A little laugh escapes Ian. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah, man. You just gotta tell me, fucking tell me this is it for you too.”

The strangest emotions blooms to life in Ian’s chest and he thinks, he pretty sure, that’s hope. Hope that he and Mickey are going to make it out of this, because if Mickey is willing to weather all this shit with him then that’s all that matters. So it’s time to reach out to Mickey whose been desperately trying to keep Ian afloat for months now.

Ian exhales shakily, eyes moving back up to the stars. “I don’t really wanna live off the piss couch, but going to beat up Kenyata sounds pretty good.”

“Yeah?” Mickey breathes out.

“Yeah.” And because Mickey owned up to it, Ian thinks he should too. “I’d marry you if you weren’t already hitched.” His heart drums tightly and he’s not back to happy, not all that close to it either, he thinks he could be though, if he can have this thing with Mickey. 

Mickey chokes on a laugh. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“I would though,” Ian says more honestly. “Cuz I love you and I’d want that with you, if you’d have me, the mess that I am, because if you haven’t noticed, Mickey, I’m a fucking mess right now.”

“Doesn’t mean you fucking need to be cleaned up. I love your mess even when it’s messing up my life too. Now tell me where the fuck you are so I can come pick up your sorry ass and we can get on harassing the shit out of Mandy.”

“I don’t actually . . .” Ian looks over at the trailer. “I don’t actually know where I am.”

“Then use your fucking gps or some shit, douchebag,” Mickey insists.

“Yeah, okay, chill. I’ll text you when I get it,” Ian says, already envisioning how saying goodbye to Monica is going to go. It was a pretty shitty idea to run off with her now that he’s leaving her. He doesn’t want her to think he’s abandoning her, because he’s not, it’s just his life is with Mickey, Mickey’s his family and he hopes his mom will get that. 

“Oh, shit, I guess I should tell you,” Mickey interrupts Ian’s cycling thoughts. 

“Tell me what?”

“I kinda killed Sammi,” Mickey says sheepishly. 

“The fuck, Mickey?” Ian yelps, glancing over at the trailer and hoping he didn’t wake Monica’s boyfriend, his newly resurrected emotions shooting back to fear. 

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t intentional. Was gonna roofie her, do some torture, you know, for fucking with you, but uh – bitch is a pill popper and she kinda od’ed from the roofie.”

“Mickey! Jesus Christ.” Ian’s heart trips in his chest. 

“Sent her off in a packing crate, but, yeah, she wasn’t exactly as dead as I thought. Came raging back and fucking shot me.” Mickey sounds disproportionately upset about getting shot versus thinking he’d killed someone. 

“Are you okay?” Ian asks, horrified. Jesus, fuck, he’s been off with Monica hitching rides with the dirtiest men in America and Mickey could have been fucking dead. Dead. And Ian wouldn’t have known. Fucking hell. 

“Yeah. Bitch shot me in the arm. It’s kind of a nice change over getting shot in the lower half of my body, to be honest,” he scoffs a laugh. 

“Fuck. Mickey.” Ian shakes his head, feeling completely lost. “Fuck. Just get here so I can properly freak out about you almost dying, okay?”

“Waiting on you, douchebag,” Mickey says and Ian can imagine his smirk, it helps ease his panic. 

“Right. Yeah. Okay.” Ian fumbles his phone, hanging up on Mickey and pulling up google to pinpoint his location. Once he has it, he sends it off to Mickey, not even hesitating, which is pretty amazing in and of itself. 

He’d gone off with Monica because he didn’t think there was anything left for him at home. That’s bullshit, and he knows it. There hasn’t been anything at home for him for a while, not since he left for the army, maybe. But Mickey? Mickey’s always fucking there. 

So the second Mickey replies with a caustic ‘k,’ Ian calls him back, palms sweaty, stomach uneasy. “Jesus, she fucking shot you. I’ll kill her myself,” Ian swears.

Mickey just laughs. “Fuck off, man. She’s locked up. Frank came all swaggering forward about how she’s a maniac with a gun, citing his own gunshot and the police just carted her off.”

“Damn.” Ian shakes himself. Mickey’s fine. He’s coming for Ian. Things are okay, especially with Sammi in jail. “It’s like we’re turning into the Milkovichs, more of us behind bars than out.”

Mickey laughs. “You fucking wish, white bread. You’re family ain’t got shit on mine.”

And since Mickey kind of brought it up, Ian tentatively asks, “How’s, uh, how’s Svetlana?” 

“Still mad at you. But she’s back at my place now. Probably come down with me, if that’s okay with you.”

“What, really?” Ian asks, surprised. He’s not surprised she’s still mad at him, but he’s borderline shocked that she’d want to come with Mickey to get him. 

“She hates it here, man. And she’s convinced I’m only an acceptable parent when you’re around. So she’ll probably corral up the kid and we’ll roll down to get you, bitching at each other the whole way while Yevgeny sleeps in that big ass car seat of his. You know you’re not even that far away. Like four fucking hours.”

Ian’s head is spinning, but in a good way, hope creeping back in his chest. “I haven’t seen Yev since – “

“Yeah, I know,” Mickey interrupts. “I hadn’t either till I called Lana and told her she could crash back here if she wanted.” 

“How is he?”

“Still a baby. Drools a lot, shits even more. Misses you or some bullshit. He keeps looking around here like he’s waiting for your dumb face to pop out from behind a door.” Mickey sniffs like the conversation is boring him. Ian knows things are difficult between Svetlana and Mickey at the best of times and Mickey still hasn’t figured out what, exactly, his position is in Yev’s life. So talking about this stuff is probably a lot of things for Mickey, but boring isn’t one of them. 

“I miss him too. I miss Svetlana, even if she’s pissed at me,” Ian says earnestly.

“Then hang the phone up, bitch, and we’ll be at shitsville trailer park in four hours, okay?” Mickey’s words are edged with concern, like he thinks as soon as he hangs up Ian is going to take off again. 

It makes Ian feel guilty and he probably deserves that. “I’ll be here, Mick. But could you like pick me up a burger? I’m fucking starving.”

Mickey sighs in exasperation, like Ian wanting a burger is the most obnoxious thing he has ever done. Like Ian having run off and everything that came before that is water under the bridge now. And maybe it is for Mickey, because Ian promised to stay this time and maybe that’s all Mickey ever wanted. “Jesus, yes, you drama queen. Love you, shithead.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I love you too, Mickey,” Ian says, his voice soft. 

“See you in four fucking hours,” Mickey promises before he hangs up. 

Ian finally releases the phone; he falls back on the damp grass, eyes going to the stars again. Four hours. Four hours and his life is going to start again, not this weird stasis he’s been in since running away with Yevgeny, really start. With Mickey bitching at him to take his pills and Svetlana glaring at him until he figures out a way to earn her trust back, and hopefully Mandy, slapping him upside the head for taking so long to visit her. 

And maybe it’s not the best life, because the family he grew up with, who he loves fiercely, won’t be the central focus of it anymore. His family is shifting, but maybe that’s okay, that’s what growing up is, or so he’s heard. So it’ll be him and Mickey, maybe Svetlana and Yevgeny, and they’ll face all the shit that comes their way, and if they’re lucky, if they’re fucking lucky, they might just make it through it all.


End file.
